


Defeater of the Others

by PuzzledHats



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ADWD spoilers, F/M, Post - Endgame, TWOW spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 20:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuzzledHats/pseuds/PuzzledHats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alys turned away, walking through what remained of Castle Black, not really knowing where she was going until she stood outside the door in the back of the forge. She didn’t knock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defeater of the Others

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking a lot lately about ASoIaF endgame, about how everyone is going to die and who will be left to pick up the pieces. Pretty sure Jon living is wishful thinking, but that doesn't stop me from pairing him with any female he isn't related to, because (if you couldn't tell already) I'm a pretty unapologetic crazy Jon Snow fangirl. I just want him to hook up with everyone, so read on?
> 
>  
> 
> DISCLAIMER- Obviously I own nothing, GRRM does. Also, SPOILER WARNING, I have read the Theon chapter from The Winds of Winter and there are minor spoilers from that in this story.

The funeral pyres lit the remains of the Wall, throwing the cracks and holes in stark relief to the glint of the ice. Alys did not count how many fires there were tonight, too many to even see them all, stretched out on either side of her.  
  
It didn’t matter now. The war was over.  
  
She continued to gaze at the pyre in front of her, ignoring the smell her eyes intent on the body. Belatedly she remembered the Karstark tradition of sending family off with a gold Dragon, to pay their way to the other side. She doubted Sigorn would have appreciated it. Knowing the Wildlings, they probably had different traditions in death.  
  
She thought of the last time he had come to her, three days previous. It had been after a particularly bad battle with the Others, when they had lost the first dragon. He often came to her after battles, when his blood was up, fucking her from behind, hard and fast as she was on all fours. But the last time had been different, when she had moved to position herself he had stopped her, turning her gently around. He had taken his time that night, slowly building her up until she thought she would explode. And she had, or at least that was what it felt like. A pure shot of pleasure so intense, Alys wasn’t sure if she would come down on the other side. The first time she had ever felt that, ever peaked. She wondered now if Sigorn had some sort of premonition about his fate, wanting to leave her with one last good memory.  
  
They had not loved each other, but they had respected one another. Alys thought there had been worse arranged marriages.    
  
She stood for a moment longer until the face of her dead husband became a grotesque version of what it once was, engulfed in the flames, pausing only a moment as she turned to send a prayer up to the Old Gods that he find peace.  
  
Half a dozen pyres lit her way back towards Castle Black, walking around various people in mourning. She passed the greatest hole the wall had suffered, dimly making out the carcasses of two dragons on the other side.  
  
In front of Castle Black, in a place of honor, were the two largest pyres of the night.  
  
Dothraki circled around the closest one, all hopeful their dragon queen would once again walk out the flames. Alys could just barely make out the small frame of the queen who had given her life and those of her dragons to defeat the host of the Other’s army.  
  
The other pyre lay almost abandon, only Tom O’Sevens remained playing the harp, singing a sad ballad. He sang of the grey eyed wolf girl and her bastard bull. He told of their adventures, their life as friends then lovers; their ultimate demise together. Alys did not try to make out the figures on the pyre, her eyes stinging slightly as she listened to Tom’s song.  
  
Alys turned away, walking through what remained of Castle Black, not really knowing where she was going until she stood outside the door in the back of the forge. She didn’t knock.  
  
He sat before the fire, a goblet held loosely in one hand. The reforged Lightbringer lay across the lone table in the room, she could feel the heat still emanating from it. He stared into the flames, not acknowledging her entrance. She walked over to him, grabbing the goblet from his hand and gulping down a healthy amount. She barely managed not to grimace as the strong wine burned her throat.  
  
“We’ve won,” she said, her voice quiet yet loud in the still room.  
  
He nodded, once. Not removing his eyes from the fire.  
  
“And you’re a Targayen now,” she stated. He didn’t respond. “But you’ll always be a Stark to me.”  
  
“Snow,” he corrected her.  
  
“Stark,” she said. “Always a Stark.”  
  
He closed his eyes then for a moment, before opening them and returning his gaze to the fire.  
  
“What do you hope to find in the fire?” She asked.  
  
He said nothing, acting as if he did not hear her. His face was a stone mask, revealing no emotion.  
  
Alys moved, kneeling before him, her back to the fire. She reached out her hands slowly toward the laces of his breeches, keeping her eyes intent on the job as she unlaced the ties. She glanced up briefly when he did not move to immediately stop her; his eyes now rested firmly on her.  
  
Once his cock was free, her hand began moving in a steady rhythm down his shaft until he was hard in her hand.  Then she sat up, her head descending on his tip, using what little knowledge she had to lick and suck. Her hands making up for whatever her mouth could not take.  
  
Her first victory came when she heard him exhale slightly, next came a groan. Then his hand moved to thread his fingers through her hair, lightly scratching her skull. She wasn’t sure how long it would take, having only done it once on Sigorn. She thought it he must be getting close, if his minor thrusts into her mouth meant anything.  
  
As she reached the tip, her tongue moving out to lick, his hand came to her shoulders, stopping her from moving back. He gently pushed her back, his mouth moving over hers in hungry kiss. She found herself on her back, Jon’s hand underneath her skirts, divesting her of small clothes. He inserted one long finger into her core, finding her wet and wanton, curling it once to illicit a small groan from the back of her throat.  
  
He pushed her skirts up, partying her with his hand, slowly guiding himself inside of her. Fully sheathed, he took a moment to pull back from her slightly, meeting her eyes. He looked like he wanted to say something, but she found she didn’t want to hear it. She only wanted to feel.  
  
She reached her hand up, pulling him down for another kiss. He began to thrust into her then, making incoherent growling noises. They had no rhythm, only a course kind of coupling that had them both panting between moans.  
  
For the second time in her life she reached that moment of pure pleasure, where all the world faded and there was only bliss. Jon followed shortly after, pumping into her, spilling his seed.  
  
When he had spent the last of himself, he rolled off, laying on his back beside her. The fading firelight softened his face, erasing the wrinkles that had come to mar his face as Lord Commander, Westeros’ last defense against the terror beyond the Wall.  
  
“Will you claim the Iron Throne?” She whispered, scared of his answer.  
  
He turned his head to look at her, his eyes intent on hers.  
  
“You are the last Targaryen, the last heir to the throne,” she explained.  
  
“You forget about Shireen Baratheon,” he said.  
  
“I had heard she died with her Lady Mother,” Alys said.  
  
“No,” he said, his voice weary. “I only wanted Westeros to believe that. She is safe with the Ser Davos Seaworth. I will send a raven tomorrow, asking him to bring her back.”  
  
“If you won’t be the next king, what will you do? The Night’s Watch is no more. You’re no longer beholden to your vows.” She had wondered this since the Watch had been disbanded the previous year, wondered if he survived what he would do.  
  
He sighed, rolling his head to stare at the beams of the roof.  
  
“I must ensure Rickon reclaims Winterfell.” he said, dropping his voice to whisper as he continued. “There must always be a Stark at Winterfell.”  
  
“And after Rickon is established?” She asked, not sure why she continued to push him. “What will you do then?”  
  
He shifted then, rolling on his side to look at her. She followed his example, laying her head on her hand. His hand reached out, tracing her cheek bone, moving a strand of hair from her face.  
  
“Will you be able to hold Karhold without Sigorn?” He asked.  
  
“Stannis killed my uncle and his sons, there is no one left to challenge me,” she said, a small smiling forming on her lips. “But someone would be foolish to challenge me. The Mormont women have been teaching me to defend what is mine.”  
  
He smiled at that, a small sad smile, but a smile all the same. They lay there for a while, staring at each other in the fading firelight.  
  
“I want to go somewhere warm,” Jon said finally. “Must be the blood of the dragon awaking.”  
  
“A song of ice and fire,” Alys whispered, smiling, pushing him to his back, shifting to straddle him. “Azor Ahai come again.”  
  
He smiled up at her, his hands moved under her skirts, resting on her bare thighs.  
  
“Wielder of the Red Sword of Heroes,” she smirked, leaning over him, resting her hands on the floor above his shoulder as he let out a bark of laughter. “Defeater of the Others, practically a god amongst men. Shall I throw rose petals at your feet? Shall I go before you, tell all to avert their gaze from your majesty?”  
  
Her mouth settled over his as he let out another laugh. She kissed slowly, relishing in the fact that they had any time at all. When his hands moved to cup her ass, she pulled back.  
  
“Maege will send out a search party if I do not return soon,” she explained, grabbing her smallclothes as she stood, thinking of the Moon Tea Maege would undoubtably have waiting for her. Jon did not move, but the smile that had been on his face was gone. He watched her silently fix her clothing, finally standing when she walked to the door.  
  
“I’m sorry about Sigorn,” he said, causing her to turn back.  
  
“You’ll have to find me a new husband,” she said, trying to hold the smile on her face. “One that doesn’t enjoy battles as much. I’d like to keep the next one for longer.”  
  
“Marry me, I am done with battles.”  
  
“You are Azor Ahai. You will never be done with battles.”


End file.
